


The Grass Along The Riverbanks

by SophieLhant7



Category: Philippines - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieLhant7/pseuds/SophieLhant7
Summary: This is my very first short story. It is filled with allusions to Philippine history and culture, because at its heart, this is a retelling of our modern history, from a perspective not so commonly seen or considered, even by most Filipinos.I dedicate this work of mine to the indigenous Lumad tribes, to the Muslim Moro people, to the poor, neglected, and forgotten of our society, and all the suffering and oppressed peoples of my beloved country. Keep fighting on against the odds, keep enduring the unimaginable, and keep rising up to the occasion, for yourselves and for all our peoples. And I hope that one day, we Filipinos will find… that we truly are stronger together than we are apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Preface: 
> 
> I was heading home from the University of the Philippines one sunny afternoon, sometime late last year. Classes were done for that day, and I just wanted to go home to rest, watch Boruto, play games, and then study. It seemed like a normal day. As the car I was riding in passed over the Marikina River on the Marcos Highway Bridge, I noticed the muddy and grassy banks of the river, as well as the cracked concrete steps leading down to the riverside. The grass was always there, I thought. No matter what development they did to that area, the resilient grass always found a way to spread and grow strong, even within small openings the concrete and stones themselves.
> 
> Then something clicked in my head. A story played out in my mind that was surprisingly coherent and even somewhat resembled our turbulent history as a bunch of disparate peoples lumped together into one nation due to being in one archipelago called the Philippines. And as I began to realize that this was a meaningful story, I immediately wrote down everything that came to mind. And this story is the result of those few minutes of realization and both creative and critical thinking.
> 
> Those of you who are reading this and have Filipino blood in you, I wish that you would be able to understand the different point of view and the symbolism that the grass represents. In other words, what peoples do the grass symbolize? Take note, there can be multiple answers! It depends on your own experiences too!
> 
> And to those who are foreigners and do not necessarily understand my country, I hope that this story is still able to affect your lives in other ways. Maybe a paradigm shift about a certain minority in your own nation? Maybe a newfound empathy to those suffering oppression? Maybe a new ability to put yourself in other people’s shoes? Or perhaps even an interest in my country’s history and culture. But in any case, I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 1

Along the banks of the Marikina River, there grew large communities of grass. They were proud, resilient, and generally aware of their surroundings. They conserved resources and lived within their means, refusing to buy into the vain, materialistic, money-centered culture that was common in the Philippines. They made their homes in the muddy banks of the river and the cracks in the concrete riverside steps.

The people who lived near and alongside them were not rich either, and they lived in simple shanty houses. They accepted the grass and let the grass be. However, the foreigners who were visiting from far off lands always criticized the grass and the people alongside them for looking ugly and poor, and making their surroundings dirty and unsightly.

But the grass stood their ground. They had been there for many grass-years. Many generations of grass have been born, have lived, and have died there, and they lived on there in peace. They had survived countless typhoons, earthquakes, fires, wars, and revolutions that have shaken the ground around them. This was their way of life, their land, their culture, and their home. And they would not be budged by mere judgment and criticism.

One day, a certain Strongman, fashionably dressed in a traditional Barong Tagalog, visited the city of Marikina and gazed upon what he called the slums. His wife, dressed in a pink, luxurious, stylish Filipino-made dress called a Baro’t Saya, followed him, and was horrified at the sight. She was wealthy and rich, and dedicated her wealth to "beautifying" the city.

In short, she made dirty, polluting shoe factories along the blue Marikina River and covered up the dirty houses of the poor with colorful facades, all while leaving the insides of the houses, and everyone in them, to rot. She merely focused on how things looked for outsiders, while completely ignoring how things actually were.

The strongman then turned his attention to his feet and saw the grass growing along mud and cracks in the concrete steps. He asked, "Why are you here? You make Marikina look ugly."

The grass replied, "We've been here for many generations. This is the land entrusted to us by our fathers, and their fathers before them. And this is the same land that we will entrust to our descendants. This is our home."

"This will not do," the Strongman said. "I am trying so hard to make Marikina attractive to foreigners and visitors from far away countries, so that the whole country will get more money and prosper. And unfortunately, you are an obstacle to that. You will have to adapt and cater to our needs."

Despite the pleas of mercy from the grass, they were uprooted and forcibly relocated a long way away, to their new home by the roadside. They saw their old homes demolished and filled in with new cement. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," the Strongman smugly justified to the grass, as he and his wife returned to their Palace.

The grass tried to adjust to their new home, but it was really hard to do so. The toxic fumes from the passing cars and the trash that was littered by visitors made their lives much worse.

They longed for their freedom. They longed to return to their homeland, which was in sight. They were so near, yet so far. But they could not, because every night, the soldiers would pass by in their trucks, allegedly "to maintain order" in the New Society and Martial Law Rule of this Strongman. Most of the time, the grass would go unnoticed as they hid in their now very polluted homes.

A brave few dared to resist, and they were uprooted by the soldiers who saw them. Some lucky ones returned home with burns from cigarette butts, and trauma from water torture and electric shocks, but at least they returned home alive. Many of those uprooted were never seen again, while a few of them were spotted having been "salvaged", floating on by in the flowing waters of the Marikina River.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

One day, there was a great uproar. The people finally had enough of tyranny, and they banded together for a peaceful Revolution on a long and important Avenue, so the grass all left their lot to join in. Within three days, the Strongman fled, and a new leader, a Woman fully dressed in Yellow, rose to take his place. She gave the people back their freedom, and finally let the grass return to their original home in peace.

The grass returned to their land along the riverbanks, only to see their old homes demolished and filled in with concrete, and their beloved river now brown with pollution. Many of the new grasses, having been born in the new lot, decided to go back to the newer higher lot, as they were more used to life there. Yet the older grass returned to their roots and reformed their community. They remade and expanded the network of cracks and formed their homes on both sides of the river, just as their ancestors did before.

However, with the new lady in yellow came the coups and bombs that bellowed. The soldiers tried many times to kill her and her family, and very nearly succeeded twice. During these battles, the grass hid in their homes. Huge craters were blown into the mud and concrete, and bullet holes signaled the devastation, yet after the dust settled and the weapons were laid down, the grass remained strong and persevered.

Years passed, and the community was flourishing. They expanded into the holes and craters left behind by the old battles, as well as the cracks that naturally formed over time because of erosion. In time, they were greater than ever before in their history. It was a peaceful time for them, and no one minded them too much. Everyone who passed by was far too focused on the colorful facades of the slums to give too much notice to the grass, and the grass was okay with that.

However, a storm came one day. It was a storm unlike any other in the history of Marikina. There were no powerful gusts and toppled power lines, but there was rain, and so much of it. In less than half a day, it rained so much that the river burst its banks. The flood was so horrible that even three-story houses were completely submerged. The grass could do nothing but try to wait out the floodwater. Unfortunately, a lot of the grass could not keep their grip, and floated away during the wait.

Finally after five days, the river returned to normal. The grass community was devastated, but in the same spirit of resiliency as their Filipino roots provided, they rebuilt their village. The grass that floated away during the flood were able to make the long march back to their home, and the grass community from the lot higher up on the riverbanks, nearer to the roadside, also gave them aid. 

"We are of the same blood," they told their brothers as they gave them food, soil, and some fertilizer that came from upstream. "'Bayanihan', or helping one another, is a special Filipino trait after all."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A few years had passed since the great flooding, and the grass community was recovering nicely. They were working together with other communities of grass in the area, and were now gaining a sense of self-awareness, that all the communities of grass along the Marikina River were experiencing the same problems of pollution, further destruction of nature, and the increasing discrimination from foreign humans unfamiliar and ignorant of their cultures. The communities and villages started banding together due to these events, and they grew stronger together.

Along came a vile man, a man who swore and cursed a lot. He was, for some reason, convinced that these grass communities are sympathetic to communists, if not communists themselves, because of their unique culture and refusal to conform to the main capitalist society, cultures, and beliefs of Filipinos, at least in the capital area. 

"You make my country ugly and sick,” he criticized them without much logic. “You bring this country disorder and unrest! You are communists! You are terrorists! You help drugs enter my country, and you corrupt the youth! So I promise you, I will kill all of you!" He threatened to burn their homes and bomb the schools of the young grass, such that their kind will be extinguished, and that he would only relent if they leave their ancestral homes or conform to his society. 

They refused his ultimatum, and so he attacked them. He declared Martial Law in the area that the grass called their home. He killed anyone who opposed him there, without any just trial due to the Martial Law status, and he tried to intimidate the grass into submission. But the grass did not give up. 

Their homes were burnt and bombed out: grasses desperately pulled their fellow survivors away to the higher lot, which was officially a safe haven. There, they were cordoned off by the military, with no aid allowed into the lot. In constant fear, the grass communities were left to die, but the grass simply refused to go quietly into the dark night.

Eventually, the vile man was replaced by a kinder, gentler woman who ended the blockade and let the grass go and grow back again. They rebuilt their homes in peace and grew strong as a united community. The river was beginning to be less polluted and more alive again; the fish came back and swam about once more. The human children in the area began to play there more often, and learn more about nature and their culture by spending time amongst the grass. The fishermen and cyclists often visited too; they sat and rested along the grassy steps.

However, to this very day, some ignorant foreigners keep asking, "Why don't we drive them out?"

"Why don't we make the riverside beautiful again?" 

"These grass have no rights to this land. They have no physical deeds or papers to prove their ownership!”

“They are lesser beings than us real humans! They are below us, and so we have the manifest destiny to take what is theirs for ourselves!”

“Why should we accommodate them, when they should bow to our demands? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, always!"

But the grasses reply, "This is our land. This was the land of our ancestors, and this will be the land of our descendants. Our cultures, our ways of life, and our homes, are tied to this place. This land belongs to us! We've survived countless crises to stay right where we are, and that won't change anytime. You have enough land for your people, so stop trying to grab ours!"

Today, the grass still grows along the riverbanks of Marikina. And they wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
